[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

And a single edit to see if I could make it cohere. It only kinda coheres.

Slice of Life

Time, the weather, bus schedules, hormones, who will become the next Pope, and the publication date for the final Harry Potter book.

These are all things that I have no control over. These are the givens I accept and they’re all just a little slice of my life. I cannot slow down the tick-tock of my own personal death clock any more than I can set my watch with any certain accuracy because time is relative. I cannot chase clouds out of my blue sky when all I want to see for miles and miles is a great expansive blue. I’m not Catholic, and even if I were I still would have no control over the papal election.

Went on the pill a couple of times and if anarchy is control, then I maybe I can control my hormones.

I’m a rabid Harry Potter fan and I don’t even have control over that.

Whether I brush my teeth in the morning and at night, whether or not I floss first, whether I’ve cheated on a test, whether or not I tell lies to my boss about why I’m late to work yet again, whether or not I have a cigarette now and again, or whether I practice safe sex.

These are all things I have control over. These are My Chose Your Own Adventure books and they’re a little slice of my life, too. I brush my teeth every morning and every night, but only in the evenings do I floss first. I have cheated on tests, usually in government class, and always scamming answers from my good friend Mary. When I think about it now I can still feel the shame. It makes my body blush and my nipples become erect, like I’m aroused, but I’m not. I’m ashamed. Funny how my body reacts the same in either state!

Yeah. Funny.

I sometimes lie to my boss about why I’m late for work. Usually I miss my first bus because I left my house too late, but I’ve told him that I had to go out and buy cat food because I forgot the night before. I’ve had fake plumbing problems, fake sick friend problems, and once I even claimed that someone had vomited on the bus and I had to get off because the stench was too bad. So, fake vomit problems.

I don’t cheat and I don’t lie when I think it matters. Some people would probably say it always matters and maybe they’re right. All I can say is that I’m always honest about being dishonest sometimes.

I have a cigarette now and again, because I like the little hug around my heart the first puff gives me, even though doctors would probably call that asphyxiation or a subtle prelude to cancer. I like sociable smokes more than lonely ones. I like a smoke with a beer. Usually I smoke with my friend Sophie or I sneak one with my dad. We’re like prison inmates conspiring together, or school girls talking about our first tongue kiss, or maybe we’re just what we are: a girl and her dad.

I practice safe sex, but once I chose not to. There were no repercussions other than my first realization that condoms fvcking suck and I prefer sex without them. I’ve practiced safe sex every time since, however, but now I known what I’m missing.

God, Do-Overs, parallel universes, magic, reincarnation, haunted houses, Bobby Fischer.

These are all things I can’t put my finger on. These are things that may or may not exist, or if they did exist, may not exist any longer, and the confusion is a major slice of my life. Religion and worship are real enough to people, so does it really matter if God is myth or reality? Life’s a stage and I believe in the show.

I’ve felt up the angles of regret. I’ve wanted to have the opportunity to do things over again, eat my words, try another approach, fix things in my life, whatever the hell that means. The wanting feels real enough but the doing seems impossible. But is it? An amnesiac’s first sip of coffee could really be her 4,321st. Maybe a beautifully crafted apology can do the trick. Maybe a simple one is enough.

To those who are owed one, I apologize. I even mean it.

Scientific American published an article on parallel universes and while reading it I was horrified to discover what a cosmic carbon copy I am. Still, I was also comforted to know that I might be living infinite versions of my life. In one I might be a lot better off than I am now and in another I might be worse. Now that I only have myself to compare myself to, I’m feeling a lot more self confident. No way am I cooler than me.

Add to that the possibility that each of my infinite lives might have past lives, and I ican easily imagine we’ve all taken turns being each other at one point or another. And if that’s the case, then I might achieve a balanced breakfast understanding of every single person who has ever lived, and therefore humanity as a whole. If this nirvana of understanding is achieved, I could easily transform into Pure Love.

Right now I understand very little, so I dish my love out miniature portion size. Pure drivel.

A well crafted chick can be magic enough for me. I’m happy leaving any real mojo browsing bookstores that smell of sandalwood incense.

I know jack about haunted houses, but I love Halloween.

Bobby Fischer was real, but where is he?

There are more uncertainties than certainties, and what’s uncertain always feels more significant than what I have dominion over. What I can’t put my finger on is there to tease and delight my curiosity.

Human beings disappoint me on a near daily basis. Strangers. Loved ones. (Sometimes the strangers are the loved ones). Family. Friends. Myself. Disappointments, all.

It’s like the human race was born to fail beyond even our greatest successes, and yet I love the human race, maybe for its failures. Who doesn’t love an underdog? I want to go to bat for you all.

Of course, in a parallel life, I may very well want to take that bat and smash in all of your skulls. And that, of course, would be a slice of my life, as well.